


OLF: The Bad Endings

by CrashStack



Series: OLF: Bad Endings [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Gen, Gore, Psychological Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrashStack/pseuds/CrashStack
Summary: "What if" is the biggest question. There are many "what if" moments in OLF, moments that could have ended badly. Mike, being the star protagonist, is of course at the center of these endings. These are the deaths that Mike (and possibly some other characters) couldn't escape from. These are the Bad Endings.
Series: OLF: Bad Endings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591426
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	1. Neck

**Author's Note:**

> AKA: Mike fucking dies.
> 
> This is going to be spanning across the entire OLF universe and will be tag updated accordingly. That means any possible death from FNAF 1 to Help Wanted, and there are a lot of possible deaths. Be aware that Mike's at the center of these, so if you hold him dear to your heart like I do be prepared to get your heart ripped out. These are also going to be fairly short, but sometimes less angsty writing leads to more pain.  
> First up: Remember Mike's first Friday whenever Freddy got in and nearly snapped his neck? Well...
> 
> !!! Warning: Read the tags !!!

“But you’re more annoying than anything.”

He tightened his grip to the fullest extent, bored of this cat and mouse game. The guard wasn't even worth a suit anymore. There was a _crack_ , and then the guard went limp. Freddy watched with morbid satisfaction as what little life those blue eyes held bled away. The pale and bitten hands fell away from Freddy’s wrists, the fight gone. He kept squeezing until blood bubbled from the corner of the slightly party lips.

Freddy dropped the body. The guard hit the ground with a small thud, unmoving. The blood that had pooled in the corner of his mouth looked black against the pale skin. His eyes were still open. The dull orbs had lost every emotion and the tiny twinkle of life. He looked so young and small lying there, the glassing blues reflecting like an empty mirror. His expression, despite his face being slack, gave the impression that he was surprised.

What a shame it would be if Freddy actually cared.

The bear chuckled. “Goodnight, little mouse.”

He turned and left the office. The janitor and cleanup crew would take care of the body like always. Everyone was already looking at him when he got to the end of the hall. Foxy had left the Cove, Bonnie standing by the stage and Chica outside of her kitchen.

Foxy’s ears twitched. “Well?”

Freddy looked at him, his smile breezy. “He’s dead.”

“Finally,” Bonnie said.

The morning bell rang just a minute later. Freddy laughed at the sound. Too bad.


	2. Desk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desk is continued on its separate story!

Bonnie just snarled. He grabbed Mike by his shirt and yanked him from underneath the desk. The teen started to scream, grabbing at Bonnie’s hand and trying to loosen the grip, but it was no use. “No! Bonnie, stop!”

The rosy eyes were black, black spreading like a spider web around the sockets and the white dots wavering. “How dare you?!” he howled. “How fucking dare you come in here with Mikey’s face and beg for your life?!”

He didn’t even think. He just slammed the guard against the edge of the table right on his back. Mike let out a shrieking howl, a loud _snap_ reaching over his sounds. There was a horrific, shooting pain and a tingling numbness scurrying around his body. His back was undoubtedly broken.

“Did that hurt?” Bonnie crooned sarcastically. He held the human up, shaking him just so to make the pain worse. “It should.”

“Bonnie!” Mike shrieked, eyes wild.

“Shut _up_!” Bonnie roared. He brought Mike up again and slammed him back onto the desk. “You made your choice when you came in here with Mikey’s face!”

Mike was choking on the pain. “It’s me!” he cried. “It’s me-!”

The giant fist pounded against his chest. There was cracking, bones breaking. Mike screamed at the feeling of his ribcage breaking. He felt like he was being ripped apart.

“You jerk!” Bonnie hit him again. “You come in here with Mikey’s face!” He hit him again. “And expect me to listen to your crying?!” Again. “You’re unbelievable!”

Bonnie just kept punching. He didn’t stop even after the screams turned to gurgles or when the guard’s limbs uselessly flopped about. He didn’t stop at the rasping plea _Bonnie please_ that became the guard’s final words. He didn’t stop at the sight of blood dribbling from the parted lips or when the pale cheeks were smeared with it each hit. The desk shook violently under his onslaught, on the verge of breaking, but he didn’t stop.

He wasn’t sure when he really did stop, but by then the guard was dead.

The animatronic looked over the broken body. There wasn’t much blood, but he knew he had absolutely destroyed the human’s organs. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were piles of mush from how hard he had beat the human down. Bonnie smirked, feeling the sick satisfaction of snuffing out the life of someone who didn’t deserve it.

The blue eyes were still open. The head was turned on its side but the eyes were still visible. He couldn’t look at those eyes anymore. Bonnie reached to close them. His hand brushed against the hair covered the forehead, and the first thing he noticed about it was that there was scar tissue. Curiosity drove him to lift the rest. He wondered what it could be, what accident had caused such a dark scar.

Bonnie froze.

No, that… That was impossible. Anyone could have a scar like that. Anyone could have a scar exactly in the place where Foxy had bitten Mikey. The more he looked, the more things started to add up. The striking resemblance, the soft voice, the big blue eyes and small stature. The satisfaction rushed out of him in one fell swoop, replaced with a sickened horror and crushing guilt.

 _No._ “Mikey?” His voice was trembling like the rest of him.

The boy didn’t respond. The blue eyes were devoid of life, the empty orbs left to stare at the wall. His ragged breathing and screams had died away with the rest of him, the small body still.

 _No!_ Bonnie felt his world crumble away. **_No!_** “Mikey?” he called again. He cupped the thin cheek and turned the boy’s head up to face him. “Mikey, is…? Are you still there?”

The empty blue eyes were like little broken mirrors, reflecting Bonnie’s horrified face. There was nothing in them anymore. Mike’s soul was gone. Bonnie didn’t know where the boy had gone, but he wasn’t here. Either he had escaped into some corner of the pizzeria or had passed on in a moment of adrenalized fear, but he was gone. His body was too damaged for him to return to it, his organs bruised and bleeding and his bones broken.

Bonnie lifted Mike’s body like it was made of glass. The small spine let out a faint _crack_ under the gentle handling. Bonnie choked at the sound, his gentle grip on the boy wavering. He made sure to support the fragile neck, his hand cupping the back of Mike’s head and his fingers gingerly digging into the thick hair.

Mikey was dead, and Bonnie had killed him.

The rabbit held the boy close, gripping him too tightly and further damaging the body, but he was crying too hard to hear the sounds. “I’m sorry,” Bonnie sobbed softly. “Mikey, I’m so sorry.”

Mikey felt just as tiny in Bonnie’s arms when he was a little child. Only now he wasn't grabbing at Bonnie's fur and giggling as Bonnie wiggled his ears, he was silent and dead.

“Come back,” the rabbit begged. He nuzzled the thick locks. They smelled sweet and bitter at the same time with something he couldn't place. Mikey’s hair had always been a mess. “Come back, Mikey, please come back.”

There was nothing stable to return to even if Mikey was still here. No human could survive such a vicious beating and live.

Something struck Bonnie’s mind. “I-I can fix this!” he exclaimed, his voice ragged. He grinned. “I can fix this!”

His hands blackened. Bonnie felt through Mikey’s back for the damage, the guilt mounting at each thing he felt. He felt a multitude of scar tissue on the boy's skin that wasn't from him. The spine was broken, snapped cleanly in two. Mikey’s organs were so bruised. They had been punctured by his shattered ribs, his lungs getting the brunt of the attack. That’s what had ended up killing Mikey; the boy had drowned in his own blood.

B-but lungs could be fixed, right? Right, they could. All Bonnie had to do was empty them and heal the holes. It was just like sewing a rip in their suits. It couldn't be that hard to fix.

It was minutes afterwards that he realized it was much different. Confused mutters and grunts came from Bonnie as he struggled with the healing. Nothing was coming together like he thought it would. The fluid trapped in Mikey’s lungs needed somewhere to go, but he didn’t know where and he didn’t want to make the boy throw up anymore. The ribs were so broken that Bonnie had no clue where to even start trying to mend them back together, the organs torn and bruised.

He didn’t… He didn’t know what went to what. Breaking was one thing, healing was an entirely different task. It wasn’t as easy as he thought. Humans were more different than Bonnie originally thought. He didn't know what to do. What could he do?

This couldn’t be fixed, Bonnie realized. His power evaporated from his hands. He couldn’t fix Mikey. He had broken Mikey and he couldn’t put him back together.

Bonnie hunched over Mikey. Ink poured from his eyes like tears and dripped onto the floor in heavy droplets. He quivered and held Mikey’s body close as he cried. Quiet, sharp whimpers and sobs echoed around the room with the faint sound of gears grinding tightly together under Bonnie’s fur.

_“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”_

Something broke, but Bonnie wasn’t sure what bones in Mikey’s chest were still in one piece.


	3. Wall

Chica didn’t waste time in grabbing him. Her hand was big enough to wrap around the thin wrist and touch her own fingers. The door stopped when it sensed someone beneath it, cutting away Mike’s only chance at survival.

“That was easier than I thought,” Chica said. She chuckled lowly. “Now what should I do with you? Should I take you to get suited up or are you even worth the hassle anymore?”

Mike trembled in her grip, looking at her with wide and teary eyes. “Chica,” he breathed. He couldn’t find the power to scream.

Her orchid eyes darkened. “Don’t say my name,” she commanded.

A feathery hand was shoved into his mouth, another one tightly gripping his head. Mike’s eyes widened, the dull blues brightening with pure terror when he realized what she was about to do. His hands flew up to pry off her hand, but she was far too strong for him. His helpless scream was muffled by her soft feathers.

His lower jaw separated with a sickening _crack_. It took a few good pulls before it was completely ripped away from Mike’s face, a gurgled scream following it before dying into pained moans. The tattered tongue lolled from the gaping wound like a broken party streamer, skin hanging like shredded party banners and blood dripping onto the floor like macabre confetti. Mike’s hands were shaky when he brought them up, his fingers just grazing the skin, tears streaming down his face. The entire bottom jaw was gone, and so was half of his face.

Chica tossed the jaw aside. She was so fast in switching her grip. Her right hand went to grip the back of his head. Mike had no time to even think of a plea before his face was slammed into the wall. His nose broke, shattering under the pressure. His skull rang sharply, his brain rattling violently.

Then she brought him back a short distance before doing it again.

Mike wasn’t sure how many times she did it. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. All he was sure of was that he was in horrific pain in his face and skull and he just wanted it to end. He didn’t want to die like this, but it seemed like it was the only choice to escape the shooting pain of the bones in his face cracking and breaking. He could feel the front of his skull cracking, shards digging into his brain. It was like '87 all over again, but just slowed down.

He could feel her grin burning into his very soul. Chica, someone Mike had seen as a mother, who used to pepper his cheeks with kisses as best as she could with her beak and would cuddle him for hours, who would tickle him and coo how much she loved him, was bashing his head against the wall until he died. This was a victory for them, for her.

It was easier to let go knowing that.

Chica stopped a few minutes later. Blood smeared the wall like a child's messy finger-painting. The guard’s face was a horrific mess. It wasn't even a face anymore, just a small oval of ripped skin, bone, blood, and muscle. There was nothing left of his nose, just a pulp. The remains of his mouth hung limply. Teeth littered the floor, small and almost cute-looking. They were stained with red, a puddle of crimson beneath the guard far more substantial than Chica had originally thought.

Either he bled out or his brain couldn’t take the wall anymore. It didn’t really matter to Chica. He was dead and out of their lives. He chose to stay.

She dropped him. He hit the ground with a wet _plop_. She didn’t even spare him another glance before walking away. She needed to clean herself up. A new cake needed to be put in the display case before they opened, and she couldn’t make it covered in blood. It didn't matter if it was red velvet.

It was probably the resemblance to Mikey that had her so eager to clean herself off.


	4. Maul

Foxy’s bared his teeth. He slammed Mike against the back wall and raised his hook.

 _“No!”_ Mike screamed, eyes bugging at the sight of the rusty hook. “Foxy! Stop!”

He jammed it into Mike’s right eye. The boy screeched, struggling away despite the horrific burning in his socket. Foxy ripped his hook back, taking most of the squishy orb with it. He flicked most of it off before turning on the next one. Mike turned his face just in time, but the hook came down and pierced the flesh of his cheek, curving around his lip. It was torn away with one strong yank, flesh flapping, Mike gurgling as the blood from the tattered mess ran down his throat. He coughed up some teeth that had been knocked loose.

“Hel’!” Mike shrieked, words slurred from his torn lips, red streaking his cheeks. He managed to stumble a few steps, reaching for the door. “’ris!”

Foxy sneered. “No ye don’,” he growled. He grabbed the human by the shirt and lifted, tossing the guard so he could get better leverage. The guard was barely a paper weight. “No more runnin’.”

He lifted the guard higher, looking right into that terrified blue eye and mutilated mouth, and then Foxy sank his fangs into the thin thigh. He pulled his hand back, the human flopping backwards with a high choking sound. Blood soaked the pant-leg, the femur already cracking under the enormous pressure. Foxy clenched his jaw, yellow eyes burning, and tugged and tore until the limb finally came off. It flopped uselessly in the strong jaws.

Mike was dropped to the ground. His chin banged against the tiles. His head was ringing, a numbness spreading throughout his chest as he felt the blood flow out of his severed limb. He choked on his tears, quaking, and rolled onto his back. Everything below his mid-thigh was gone. It was just a bloody stump, skin that had held on splayed like a sick butterfly. 

The pirate ripped the limb from his mouth and tossed it aside. It hit the floor with a _squish_. He grinned down at the hindered human, hungry for more of those pathetic sounds. “There’s no way out,” he said, his voice a purr. “Ye’re all mine.”

Mike tried to scoot backwards. He was crying so hard he was on the verge of hyperventilating. “Foxy,” he tried to say, but it came out gargled. “’ease.”

“Ye come in here with Mikey’s face, his hair, his eyes, and ye have the nerve ta beg fer yer life.” Foxy bared his teeth. “Yer ship was sunk the moment ye walked inside.”

Did Foxy not realize it was him? How was the possible? He looked almost exactly the same, didn't he? There had to be some kind of mistake. Mike reached out, a pitiful gesture. “’ait-!” 

The fox was more than happy at the offering. He lunged and bit down on Mike’s wrist. Foxy hunched over him on all fours, pinning Mike with his hook, towering over the small body like a rapid beast. The teen shrieked as his hand and wrist were chewed on, Foxy twisting his head and pulling until the hand came off. Mike sobbing harder at the sight. What was left of his wrist was gushing blood, bone peeking from where the skin had released.

Foxy spat it out. It landed somewhere with a _plop_. “How fragile,” he taunted, grinning. His fangs were stained with red, matching his fur. “Ye humans think ye’re sturdy, but ye’re all just little mice with no teeth whenever ye’re alone.”

Mike stiffened when he felt the tip of the hook poke through the clothing on his stomach. His whimpers grew louder in volume as the metal pierced his skin. He could _feel_ every bit of it.

“I love killin’ ye guards,” the fox said. He was slow as he dug into the soft belly. “Because we know what ye’re capable of. We’ve seen what ye can do.” His eyes were dark, empty of anything but rage and hunger. “I have a duty ta protect the kids from monsters like ye guards.”

“’e!” Mike moaned, raising his hand to brush away the hair from his scar in an attempt to appease Foxy. “I’s ‘e-!”

Sharp fangs sank into his head, crushing his skull and breaking the frail flesh apart. Blood flowed out of Mike’s ears and nose. The teen twitched, spasms overtaking his whole body, an empty scream airing out of his throat. His hand fell away, fingers twitching weakly. The one blue eye rolled back, empty, and then the shaking stopped. The pain stopped. Everything stopped. Something in Foxy’s chest ripped. He jerked back, taking most of the mess with him as he growled lowly at the pain. It felt like something in his soul had torn, like someone had broken their link. He ignored it as best as he could, the pulsing pain and weakness in his limbs, to look at the remains of his attack.

The guard was in pieces. What was left of his head was spread out like a bowl of overturned wet party streamers, pink mush and red puddles and white bone shards lying there in a pile. His leg and hand were strewn about, lying on the floor where Foxy had tossed them. The wounds were still bleeding, the cut on his stomach soaking into the shirt, sluggishly now. The one eye was rolled back, the other socket a disgusting red void. The light blue uniform was stained and ruined, but they burned used ones anyway. 

Usually after taking care of the guards, Foxy would feel satisfied. Accomplished. But Foxy felt…nothing.

Nothing until he remembered the pure terror on the guard’s face, how much that face had been like Mikey’s before he destroyed it. Nothing until he felt every bit of gore in his mouth. He had memorized everything from the Bite, even the feel of the boy’s hair. It had always been so different and unique, soft and fluffy. Foxy could feel it on his tongue, just like in ’87.

His soul pulsed with horrendous pain.

It's me, the guard had tried to say. It's me.

Foxy crumpled into a pile and screamed. The remains of Mikey’s head hit the ground with a wet _splat_. His hair was still messy years later, even when soaked in blood.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come
> 
> These are what ifs and not canon!


End file.
